


A New England Millennial in Zorro's Pueblo

by katfairy



Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: No non-Canon Shipping, Some Silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katfairy/pseuds/katfairy
Summary: A woman finds herself in the wrong world, almost ten years younger than she ought to be, and really wishing she remembered more of the show than she does.  What she does remember, along with a working knowledge of fictional tropes, can help everyone in the Pueblo if she's careful.  What she doesn't remember, and what changes due to her assistance?  Well, that's when things get interesting...
Relationships: Zorro/Victoria
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. What the Actual Heck

**Author's Note:**

> Confession: This started in a Role-Play thread that has long since died. A few weeks ago, I re-read my parts and realized that with a little tweaking, they could be a standalone story. So I spent some time reworking the character so that she was no longer me (well, mostly) and started fleshing out incidents only referred to in the original. Most chapters will be first-person POV, but there will be occasional interludes for others to put their two cents in.

Well, I’d wanted to travel, so I shouldn’t complain. Not that it will stop me; I’m pigheaded. The last thing I remembered was staying up to get some writing done. Then I found myself on some wreckage just off the coast of someplace or other. It was sunny, roughly mid-morning at best guess, and the coast was to my east and looking more arid than any part of Maine, let alone Somesville. A good half of my brain started gibbering, but the other half just growled in annoyance and let me start assessing my situation. I was too far out to swim to shore, but there was other wreckage nearby that I could use as oars, so that was good. And… either I was in a nightgown, which was unlikely, or I was doing some sort of Regency re-enactment. I couldn’t tell you if it was muslin or linen, but it was fairly light-weight, which was a good thing if I ended up in the water. I wasn’t wearing my watch, which was another point in the re-enactment column. In fact, there wasn’t a single anachronism on me anywhere. That could be inconvenient.

It occurred to me that it could be a dream, which would also account for the memories which weren’t mine. Apparently I had been on my way to marry some schmuck my parents, who weren’t my actual parents but were for whatever this was, had chosen for me. Joy. Suddenly the shipwreck didn’t seem quite as horrible. I felt a little guilty about that; people had died, after all. And I still could if I didn’t get my ass in gear.

I’m not really a survival expert, although I am a registered Maine Guide, but I’m also not an idiot and I did have some kayaking experience. I grabbed a bit of broken board out of the water and started paddling toward the coast, trying to watch for currents that might help and keeping an eye on the surf patterns. I’ve never surfed in my life, and I didn’t want to start like this.   
The next few hours sucked beyond telling. My arms hurt, I could feel the sunburn, and dehydration was a major concern. But I got closer to the coast, and had enough luck to be doing it somewhere around low tide. And there were buildings visible, which meant people. I reached the shore, very happy not to be re-enacting a certain Longfellow poem, and headed for what I hoped would be the part of the rescue I couldn’t do myself.

As I reached the place, which wasn’t much bigger than the village I’d grown up in, I realized that I really did not blend. I mean, even leaving off the whole shipwrecked bit. I know traditional Spanish/Hispanic/Latin American garb when I see it, even if I can’t get much more accurate than that. And the people matched the garb. For the record, I can almost blend into a crowd anywhere in the British Isles/northwestern Europe. But not here. So people were staring at me for pretty much every reason imaginable.

Then someone, a woman, spoke to me and I knew I was thoroughly boned. Because, of course, he spoke Spanish. Which I do not. I took French in school because that was the sensible option when you live a couple of hours from the Canadian border, especially since our school taught Quebecois French. So I said the most intelligent thing that came to mind.

“Oh, bugger a hedgehog.”

The woman blinked at me, then turned to a man and spoke rapidly before turning back to me and speaking slowly and carefully, indicating that I should follow her. I understood “senorita”, which was me, and “taberna”, tavern, and “doctor”, because duh. Under normal circumstances I’d have told her to take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, because what woman with sense would follow a stranger to a bar, but whether or not this was a dream, normal had taken a hike long ago and was replaced by get me out of this fucking sun before I pass out. So, yeah, I followed her.

The tavern was cooler than outdoors; adobe walls are good insulators and outdoors wasn’t really as hot as it felt after hours in the sun. Alarmed voices sprang up everywhere, but the contrast between the bright sunlight and indoors meant I couldn’t see a damn thing. Which is when it occurred to me that my glasses had gone down with the ship. Give me a break, I was distracted and my prescription's not that strong. But gentle hands guided me to a seat and put a mug in my hands. I took a careful sip, then a slightly larger one as I realized it wasn’t alcoholic and therefore less likely to try to kill me. I’m not sure what it was, but it felt good right then. I wanted to chug the whole thing, but I knew that was a bad idea.

“Excuse me, miss, but Don Andres said you spoke English when Senorita Escalante addressed you.”

“Prob—“ I winced at the croak that came out, took another sip followed by a few breaths, and tried again. “Probably because I did. And if I spoke anything remotely like decent Spanish, I’d thank her for getting me here and finding a Canadian to translate.”

“…Canadian?” I swear I could hear him blinking. Okay, I’d gotten that wrong.

“You sound Canadian. I’d apologize, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I have family in Canada.” Did that even make sense? Probably not; I was pretty out of it by then.

“Ah, yes, of course. Permit me to introduce myself: I am Don Diego de la Vega, and you are in Pueblo de los Angeles. I suspect we will need to have a more in-depth conversation at some point, but now is clearly not the time.”

“I'm Rusty MacDonald, and is it because I’m heading for a truly epic crash and burn sometime soon?”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that, but, now that you mention it…” My eyes were adjusting, and I could see him grin. But I didn’t need to see him to know what he looked like; my aunt was a huge fan of the show, had every episode on VHS and then DVD, and had indoctrinated me when she babysat me. So this was a dream, or I’d landed in a self-insert fic. Or I’d gone nuts. At the moment, the part of my brain that would care had shut down for repairs. Then I heard a loud voice outside the building and saw Don Diego/Zorro wince. “Oh, dear. Senorita, I apologize on behalf of the entire pueblo for what is about to occur.”

“And I apologize on behalf of the entire me for what I’ll do if that jackass keeps bellowing.”

He might have replied to that, but in barged Alcalde Luis Ramon, which told me I was in one of the early seasons. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I remembered his character enough to guess that he was accusing me of something. Don Diego said something quiet, garnering a few chuckles. That set off another rant, and this time two words popped out: “espia” and “bruja”. Spy and witch. I am not the most even-tempered individual in the world, and just then I was hurting, headachy, and probably in the midst of sun/heatstroke. In short, I was fed right the hell up. I took a bigger sip to make sure my throat was well lubricated and stood up, cutting the jerk off mid-sentence.

“You, sir, are a rude, over-bearing, paranoid-delusional halfwit,” I said, projecting the way I had at that job where the intercom didn’t work half the time; opera training is useful in the strangest ways. “A woman staggers into your town half-dead, and the first thing you do on hearing this is to come and yell at her? Who does that? I stand out too much to make a decent spy, and if I was a witch, do you really think I’d have let myself get this sunburned? I know it’s a strain, but for god’s sake think for a change! Seriously, why are the cute blonde guys always crazy? …I just said that, didn’t I. You know, I really think I need to sit down again…”

I suspect I passed out to keep my mouth from getting me in more trouble.


	2. The Explanations Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did take one liberty here: The Musketeers episode aired after Devil's Fortress, but Diego mentions the Alcalde being away for three months, implying it happened before. In light of that, I'm setting it just before Whistling Bandit because that made for a good introductory episode.

If you’ve ever had heatstroke, then you know what my next few days were like. If you haven’t, then you don’t want to know. It was roughly a week before Don Diego and I had a chance to talk, between recuperating and trying to find a moment when someone wouldn’t overhear us. It might have been longer, but I got impatient.

They’d taken me to the de la Vega hacienda while I was out of it because they worried that the Alcalde might try to arrest me even though I was sick. Convenient, wasn't it? That meant I was in a place that I knew had a very private location for a chat, and when Don Alejandro went into town I went over to a wall sconce I remembered from the show and pulled on it. The fireplace opened, and Diego gaped at me.

“We need to talk, and we need to do it without risking eavesdroppers. Can you think of a better place?”

“No, but I’d like to know why you can’t either, _Senorita_ Rusty.” Diego looked slightly fuzzily worried (still no glasses, dammit), but he followed me, closed the door behind us, then took the lead. Felipe, who was down in the cave feeding Toronado, gaped at us. He shot a look at Diego that even from a distance I could tell was incredulous, and Diego’s shrug was very expressive.

We took a few minutes to get settled, then Diego turned to me.

“Well, _senorita_ , I think we both have much to explain. Ladies first.”

“Thanks. This is the part where you decide I’m a thundering loony, but remember I knew how to get into Zorro’s secret lair, that you are Zorro, that Felipe is your assistant, and that he isn’t really deaf. Not that he’s fooling many people; try watching who doesn’t bother making sure he can read their lips even when they aren’t trying to be obnoxious.” That got their attention. Yeah, the explanation was lazy acting/directing, but if I was in their world, then that wasn’t it. I took a deep breath and a sip of tea (which I don’t care for, but I was being polite) and continued. “Right. So. You know I’m not from around here. Well, I’m even more not from around here than you think. My full name is, and I swear I'm not making this up, Muriel Amaryllis MacDonald and I was born in 1992 in a world where your adventures were a series of tales."

Apparently the cave had crickets.

After a few seconds, Diego stood up and went to a cupboard. He came back with three glasses and a bottle and poured us all a drink, knocking his own back in a single gulp and refilling it. Felipe took a swig and choked on it, distracting all of us for a few seconds. I didn’t touch mine.

“You’re from the future,” Diego said a little too calmly. "And another world."

“Apparently.”

“How?”

“I’d kinda like an answer to that myself. I don’t do self-insert. Much. Okay, there's that story that a couple of friends and I are writing as a joke plus the RP threads and… wow. I’m babbling. I don’t babble, except… yeah, I kinda do. Wow. Okay. Shutting up now. _What the hell?_ ”

“You may want that drink now,” Diego said, sounding amused. I shook my head.

“A world of no. Still recovering from heatstroke; I don’t need to be violently ill on top of that, and that’s how alcohol affects me. How are you not freaking out?”

“...Freaking out?”

"Uhhhhh..." Right. Early-19th-Century speech patterns. I'd have to dredge up my memories of old-school slang. Although that might not help either, since it was slang from Regency England, not colonial Spanish California. "I'm honestly not sure how to translate that."

"I think I can guess your meaning, at least. And the reason I am not _freaking out_ is because there must be a rational explanation for this. People are not simply displaced in time... for no reason."

Nice save.

"Well, if there is a reason, nobody's bothered to tell me what it is yet. And there's another problem: I seem to have regressed in age a few years and I have memories of a life here as well."

"Do you?" Diego frowned, but he was thinking about what I'd said rather than just escorting me out of the cave and calling for the doctor. I knew he wasn't fully buying into this yet, and really, why would he? I still wasn't really convinced, and I was living it. But he wasn't done talking. "This isn't exactly the same situation, but are you familiar with the concept of reincarnation?"

"Yes, and... well, I don't _disbelieve_ in it. I'm not one those idiots who thinks something has to be recreated in a lab... sorry, laboratory, to be real, but I'm also not one of those idiots who jump on each new fluffy-bunny spirituality theory that gets popular. Reality is just too weird for the first and I'm too cynical for the second."

"Fluffy-bunny?" This time I could see his grin as he shook his head. "I think I can understand that one as well, and I rather like it. And you are quite observant as to the state of reality; I've noticed some rather odd happenings myself from time to time. I can't say I'm entirely convinced that, for example, ghosts are real, but I can no longer be as certain as I once was that they are not. What can you tell me that could convince me that you are what you claim to be?"

"When you were in university in Madrid, you had some serious hero-worship for an older student named Ignacio de Soto. You studied fencing under Sir Edmund Kendall and were his prize student. You didn't have the chance to tell your father that when you first got home, and once it was necessary to become Zorro, you simply let him assume otherwise. If I'm remembering the timing right, last Christmas you began to wonder if you hadn't done more harm than good by donning the mask until one Don Fernando showed you otherwise. And..." I broke off as several incidents that wouldn't have happened yet popped into my mind. "Have you been to France yet?"

"I had just returned a week before you arrived." Diego had turned pale, and Felipe was frozen in his seat; I think I broke him. "What else?"

"You met descendants of the original Three Musketeers, one whose family had emigrated to the States, one whose family fled to England during the Revolution, and one whose family had stayed in France. The lot of you helped restore the Musketeers legacy and overthrow a corrupt... I don't remember what his title was, but his associate and probably his mistress was a Comtesse, if I remember right. Has Palomarez returned yet? Okay, good; I doubt you'll see him again but I won't swear to it. Let's see, what else... That fake medium who scammed the Pueblo-- I don't know if this has happened yet, but she died in prison and her lover is going to try to kill everyone even remotely involved in their arrest."

"That was last year." Diego shook his head, eyes closed. "This should not be possible, and yet I can't deny you know more than you should. Some of this you might have learned normally, some a good spy-- forgive me, senorita, but I must consider the possibility-- a good spy could have learned. But even the best spy couldn't have learned so much and arranged for a convenient shipwreck in such short order. And I know your illness was quite real, which would mean you had even less time to prepare for this moment. Is there anything you can think of in the near future that would prove your claim beyond a shadow of a doubt?

"Has the Whistling Bandit hit yet?" The blank looks told me everything. I grinned. "There are three visitors due in town soon. Two are not what they appear. If anyone's life was in danger, I wouldn't mess around, but the worst anyone gets out of this is a headache and some hurt feelings, so... do you want me to tell you everything I remember, or just enough to prove myself while still allowing you to figure it out?"

"For now, I think just the basics." Diego looked a little sympathetic, I think. After all, how often do you get a chance to predict the future? I think being a bit cryptic is mandated by law. "However, it it looks as though it may get more serious than your memories indicate..."

"I'll tell you immediately. All right, then: the visitors arrive on the same coach, which will be attacked by bandits. One is a scientist, either a botanist or an ornithologist. One is the pianist who is to introduce Beethoven's Ninth Symphony to the Pueblo. And one is the Alcalde's cousin Hermelinda, who will instantly fall in love with Sgt. Mendoza, who isn't having any."

"Having any..." Diego's face went through some interesting contortions. " _Senorita..._ "

"He's really, really not interested but too scared of both her and the Alcalde to run screaming."

I heard Felipe snicker, and Diego relaxed, chuckling.

"I admit I would enjoy watching that. And we should have the proof of your claims soon; _Senor_ Aragon is due to arrive in a few days. You are sure that nobody was badly injured?"

"I believe the worst injury was to your father's pride; he's the one who ends up with a headache. I repeat, he came out fine."

"...You're sure."

"In one scene, the Bandit hits him on the head with... it might have been a bookend. It's been a while. In the next, he's ranting about the Bandit and trying to get up and track the thief down himself."

"Yes, that does sound like him. All right. We'll wait and see, and if we can prevent that part, I would prefer to."

"I think it should be possible, but I'm not sure. I've read time-travel stories, but this is my first direct experience with it, so I can't be sure if the standard rules really do apply."

Diego inclined his head, smiling for a moment before a perplexed frown took over.

"I honestly don't know which outcome I wish for. Either my view of science is completely wrong, or..."

"Or a crazy lady knows your deepest secrets. I think shooting for wrong is your best bet here."

Diego laughed, shaking his head.

"I can't say I often hope for that, but you are right. And you are also overdoing it; I can see that you are getting tired. Let's get you out in the fresh air and we can continue this conversation after I catch this Whistling Bandit."

It took a few minutes for us to get organized, then up through the passage and back into the parlor and through to the garden, where Diego made sure I was situated with a glass of some fruit concoction and a shawl (because invalids always had shawls just in case they got chilly in the 80-degree weather). Maria, the housekeeper, tried to scold him when she found us, but I said I’d wanted to see if I could push myself a little harder today and that’s he’d kept an eye on me the whole time. She beamed like a proud mother, and I could just see the shipping goggles appear.

Awkward…


	3. Chapter 3

I probably should have considered that I don't speak Spanish before offering to get involved. It wasn't easy keeping track of everything, but I managed fairly well; well enough that I didn't make a fool of myself, at least, which was good enough. Thankfully, more of the Pueblo spoke English than I would have expected, but then, I knew the world in the show didn't necessarily conform to the world I'd lived in. Back home, the average early-19th-Century Spanish citizen had no reason to know English; here, it seemed like half the Pueblo did. Gotta love TV's habit of convenient coincidence.

The next three days went mostly well, other than that minor difficulty of the language barrier. Don Alejandro insisted on provding me with a few dresses, since I'd lost everything in the shipwreck. I did hesitate a bit, but he and Diego pointed out that the necessity of me having decent clothes far outweighed any social stigma attached to an unmarried woman accepting clothes from men she wasn't related to. It did give me a bit to think about, mainly how I'd support myself once I was well enough, but I couldn't spend too long on that because my awake time in those three days was spent getting used to life in this time and place while also recovering from heatstroke/exposure. I wanted to do some serious prep work, but I was still prettly wobbly no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise.

Then the fourth day came. It started pretty much like normal, with me getting up later than I would back home and immediately getting swarmed by all the female staff at the hacienda, who were determined to make me beautiful enough to catch Diego's eye. Since they couldn't make me look like Victoria Escalante, it was an uphill battle. I couldn't tell them that, of course, and the pampering made a nice switch from my usual routine. It would get annoying if it lasted too long, but for now... Luckily, they weren't insisting I stay in bed all day or even half the day anymore; that got old real quick. They did fuss over me if I tried anything more strenuous that a slow stroll, but since I hadn't completely shaken the dizzy spells yet, I couldn't blame them. My own fault; I did manage to overdo it most days, which delayed my recovery. Still, I did convince them I was healthy enough to get up and sit quietly in the library, or play the piano. Which is where Diego found me just before lunch. I was sitting playing some Kate Bush when he came up beside me and perched on the piano bench.

"An interesting tune. Has it been written yet?" he asked quietly. I grinned.

"The composer's grandmother hasn't been born yet."

"Of course." He sat quietly for a few moments before continuing. "Robbers attacked a coach this morning. Three passengers: Andres Bolanos, a botanist; Señor Aragon; and the Alcalde's cousin Hermalinda. You rather understated her... qualities."

"I thought it best if you went in with as few preconceptions as possible."

"Of course you did." He wasn't fooled, but I hadn't expected him to be. "I must admit, any one of the three would be believable as a thief, even her. An abrasive, loud demeanor would be an excellent cover; who would suspect she could be quiet and subtle enough to be a successful thief?"

Anyone who watched TV, but I wouldn't tell him that. Let's face it, I was cheating here; I had the advantage of almost two hundred years of fiction to draw on. There were tropes that hadn't even been created yet, but were cliches in my time. Diego was fairly genre-savvy in the show, but there were limits to what the writers could get away with. I didn't have that problem. I'd be able to see issues that wouldn't even occur to him, which was only fair, because he knew this era and culture a lot better than I did and would be able to warn me before I did anything that was too out-of-period to pass for eccentricity. Plus the guy was scary-smart and could pick up on hints pretty quick. On the whole, we were balancing out.

"Have you thought of a way to get your father to stay in his room the night of the theft?"

"Perhaps, but I can't say it's an idea I like." Diego looked sour for a moment, then resigned. "It would be quite easy to drug him, and he'd probably not notice. But it feels... I'm not sure what the right word is."

"Slimy. Even though you're doing it to protect him, it's still abusing his trust in you. I don't like it either, and he isn't even my father. Okay, if it was my father I wouldn't have any qualms, but Don Alejandro's a decent enough guy. But unless you come up with a better idea, it's either that or risking that in this timeline, she'll hit harder." I scowled at the piano, although it wasn't its fault I'd hit a wrong note in my distraction. Diego frowned too, probably not liking that at this point, I was right. I really hoped he came up with a better plan, but we only had until a couple of days to come up with one.

The next day passed quickly, beginning with a debate with Diego about me being present for the Bandit's unmasking. He wasn't sure I was up to it yet, but after a bit of convincing, accepted my promise that if I did feel off when the time came, I'd sit it out. We both knew I had no intention of missing the fun and that I was getting better by the day, but the promise was a good compromise. Then there was the arrival of Aragon, but that was just amusing. I was playing the piano when he arrived, Gilbert & Sullivan this time, and he unbent enough to grant that I had more talent than most debutantes he'd been subjected to. A bit patronising, but probably true; I'm pretty good and he'd probably had to listen to a lot of simpering one-percenter girls more interested in looking good for potential rich/noble husbands than in studying music back when he was teaching to make a living. I didn't understand a word of what was said when the Alcalde's cousin showed up, but I dimly remembered some amusing snark in the episode. After that, we began to divert from the script.

I was returning from walking Señor Aragon to the door when Diego looked up from his conversation with Hermelinda with a bland smile. I was immediately suspicious.

"Ah, Señorita MacDonald, we were just discussing your predicament. I'd been thinking of a new suit, but your need is considerably greater than mine at the moment. No, no, don't argue; it's Father's and my duty as your hosts to help you restore yourself to your proper station."

Oh, he was going to pay for that. But with Don Alejandro standing there beaming with pride, what could I say? I thanked him gracefully with a smile that he didn't know me well enough to worry about and went off to be measured and fitted by the Whistling Bandit.


	4. The End of the Easy Part

I'd done theater in high school and college, so I knew about getting fitted for costumes, but this was my first time being fitted for a custom outfit. Luxuries like that went to my stereotypically skinny blonde sister and equally stereotypically spoiled brother; I got off-the-rack, as befitted my (you guessed it) stereotypical middle-child status. Still, I did know the drill. Getting measured wasn't as tedious as it might have been though, since I was trying my hand at detective work. Hermelinda was a completely different person when she was working, all that forceful personality concentrated on making the best possible garment for her client. She muttered about fabric and trim, measured everything at least twice, frowned absently at the birthmark that splodged across the edge of what would otherwise have been quite nice cleavage.

"Neckline a bit higher than fashionable, I think. You clearly aren't bothered by it, but I doubt you have patience with the stares and whispers. Ladies such as us become accustomed to them early; still, there's no reason to give them fodder for their ill-bred gossip." She wasn't wrong. At 5'8", I was above average height back home and 200 years earlier I was just plain tall. And like her, not what anyone would call slim. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being a sturdy girl, but a lot of people would think my hourglass figure had a bit too much sand in it. "Now, I don't think satin would suit you, but I have a few silks that would drape nicely, and the colors would not be inappropriate for a young lady. Perhaps this blue..."

In what I still kept thinking of the Real World, making a custom full-length silk gown would take a minimum of a week. I know Diego's suit was ready in about a day, so my gown would probably do the same. I was curious as to how she managed both it and robbing at least three different places in such a short amount of time, but couldn't think how to ask. We chatted off and on about nothing much while she finished up, but I just couldn't get anything really useful out of her. I was not having a good start to this detective work.

I reported as much to Diego, who didn't seem too upset.

"Keep in mind, she has been a successful thief for quite some time, and you are not just new to investigating but this time period as well. You may be expecting too much of yourself, _se_ _ñ_ _orita._ "

"Eh, probably. Wouldn't be the first time. But I did have an idea of how to keep your father safe, and I'm a little embarrassed neither of us thought of it earlier."

"And what is that?"

"I ask him to walk me around the garden after dinner, so that he isn't in the room when the Bandit strikes." I smiled a bit as both Diego and Felipe facepalmed. It really was an obvious solution, which is why it took so long for us to think of it. Let's face it, everyone misses the obvious; it's the obscure we tend to get quickly.

"Why did I not think of that? Well, at least I know what to do later," Diego shook his head, his own faint smile beginning to appear. "However, if you do not think it will affect the outcome, I would like to switch out my mother's cameo for something as valuable but not, perhaps, as precious to my family."

"Don't see why it should; she was looking for small, easily resold items; there was no indication she was deliberately targeting personal items. Now, there's one more problem we need to deal with, and we might as well start now. I know you need to create some separation in people's minds between your reputation and Zorro's, but that's no reason for you to let yourself be a..." I broke off, because I don't think the word "buttmonkey" would translate well. But he guessed where I was going.

"I admit, it would be nice to have some degree of respect from the Pueblo, but it may be too late for that. My reputation is perhaps too well-established."

"Ain't no such animal. Any reputation can be changed, either by a big revelation or a series of smaller ones. Trust me; I've watched it happen." I didn't think he needed the details of various elections or #MeToo, but the principles were what mattered. Diego thought about that for a minute, and Felipe started to look hopeful; he probably didn't like how Diego was treated either.

"I don't think a big revelation would be a good idea, but the smaller ones... yes, we can work with that. And we can start at the concert. _Se_ _ñorita_ , would you be willing to help? Or is that a foolish question?" Diego's faint smile slowly became a grin, and Felipe and I matched him. "Now, it's still best if I'm considered, maybe no longer ineffective, but still not a fighter. Or at least, a highly reluctant one. And I believe I know how to accomplish that, even if it means dredging up an incident I'd rather forget. That, however, can wait. Now, here's what we need to do..."

It went easily after that. Alejandro and I went for a walk in the cool night air, returning just in time to spot the Whistling Bandit making her escape. Don Alejandro gave chase, but she had a horse ready and escaped. It was dark enough that he couldn't say anything more about the horse than "no visible white marks", so we wouldn't be able to identify the horse and thereby the rider. Because of course it couldn't be that easy. Diego returned to find the household in turmoil, just as expected, but was visibly relieved that nobody had been hurt. I made a point of telling him in front of several people that the Bandit had been whistling Beethoven's newest symphony; we'd begun our setup for the big reveal at the concert.

The night of the concert, Alejandro, Felipe, and I headed into the Pueblo, two of us anticipating more of a show than the third. The initial conversation went much the same as in the episode, although some translation did need to be done, since Mendoza didn't speak English and I hadn't had enough time to pick up more than a few words of Spanish. I must admit, I did get a giggle out of seeing that pompous ass Aragon fall on his ass thanks to the rigged stool, and then I sat back and watched the rest of the fun unfold, waiting for my cue. Aragon pounded through the Ninth Symphony, making me wonder how sad the state of music was in Europe that such a ham-handed plunker was considered a genius, Hermelinda jumped up and screeched like a demented banshee when Aragon hit the rewrite, Zorro made his dramatic entrance, etc, etc, etc. I also have to admit that I clutched Alejandro's arm pretty hard when the swordfighting started; it's one thing watching it on TV, but having it happening a few feet away was something else. Finally, Zorro beat both lancers and Alcalde before plucking Hermelinda's reticule off her wrist with the tip of his sword. The Alcalde looked stricken for a moment, and I have to admit I felt a bit sorry for him, but I had a part to play and I wasn't going to mess it up.

"Excuse me, but could somebody kindly explain just what in the name of Adam's off ox is going on here?"

"It appears we have caught the Whistling Bandit, _Señorita_ MacDonald," Alejandro said, sounding just shy of blowing his stack. That wouldn't help anybody, so I decided to blow mine first. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist telling me to calm down, which would be enough of a distraction to get him to calm down a little. I turned on Hermelinda, taking a deep breath.

" _You_ are the one who robbed the woman who first assisted me when I stumbled into this town, half-dead from a shipwreck? And the family who took me in and helped me regain my strength? ..And you hit your cousin on the head, but that's understandable so I'll let that pass." I heard more than one stifled snicker at that and only one indignant yelp, but kept going. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't forget that I'm a lady and snatch you bald, paint your head blue, and ship you off to Guam?"

"Because then she could not stand trial in Madrid." _Señor_ Bolanos stepped forward, and the business continued the way it needed to. So maybe I didn't need to ad-lib, but better not to take the chance. As Hermelinda was led away, Aragon returned to the piano and those familiar notes thumped out again. I waited for Zorro to deliver his line so I could ask the question we'd planned out.

"Such an arresting melody," he said. Aragon's answering grin was the most human I'd ever seen him and I hated to break the mood, but it was time.

" _Señor_ Zorro, is it? I've been hearing about you since my arrival and it's quite an honor to finally meet you. I had heard you were quite the dashing swordsman, but I did not realize you were a gifted composer as well; the tune you crafted was quite believable as one of Beethoven's."

"She's right, you know," Aragon conceded. "It was almost perfect. Perhaps you should give up that mask and come to Europe as a composer."

"I thank you, but it was Don Diego who composed it," Zorro said, as calmly as though he was only a casual acquaintance. There was a gasp from the onlookers, although I noticed a few simply nodded after thinking about it. Not, of course, Don Alejandro.

"My son wrote that? When? And why?"

"I stopped in at your hacienda last night, investigating, and Don Diego was waiting for me. It was from him that I learned the exact tune being whistled, and he wished to help bring the thief to justice. Together, we concocted this plan and he provided the music. He regretted missing the concert, but was not sure he would be able to conceal his knowledge of what was to come."

"Hm, yes, well, I doubt I would have been able to myself. But I'm surprised; Diego rarely involves himself in such matters."

"Perhaps he has reason." Zorro looked Alejandro in the eye. "Have you ever asked him?"

Alejandro opened his mouth, then closed it, slightly shame-faced. Good. He wasn't a bad man, but his impetuosity and snap judgments caused more problems than necessary during the run of the show.

"Well, if he won't, I will next time he visits the tavern," Victoria said. "I know Diego used to be so bold before he went to Madrid, and I've wondered what could have happened to change him. I should have asked long ago, but I wasn't sure I should."

"He would never refuse a friend anything, _senorita_ , and I think he might be relieved to have the truth finally be known."

"Do you know, _Señor_ Zorro?" Mendoza asked, eyes wide. At least, I think that's what he said; it was in Spanish, but the context made it obvious.

"Oh, yes, I know. I'm used to asking questions that are perhaps none of my business." The two sentences weren't actually connected, but anyone not in the know would assume they were; very clever. "And now I had best take my leave before the Alcalde--"

" _ **MENDOZA!!!**_ "

" _Such_ a noisy family," Zorro sighed, shaking his head. Mendoza snickered, turning towards the source of the bellow long enough to let Zorro escape out the back. When the sergeant turned back, he did his best to look innocent.

"Oops."

Now _that_ I understood.


	5. Diego 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego gets to start reclaiming his reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter not from Rusty's POV, but won't be the last. Also, still no shipping, but that doesn't mean attractions won't happen.
> 
> Editing note: Italics are being finicky at the moment, but if they do show up, they are mostly to indicate that someone is speaking in a language other than the POV character's usual.

Diego rose early, both dreading and anticipating what lay ahead that day. He couldn't really avoid going into the pueblo today, which meant he couldn't avoid awkward questions. If the outcome was what he hoped, his life would be much easier in the days to come; still, he hadn't talked about that incident in years and preferred not to think about it. Also, it seemed a bit untoward, using it as an explanation for why he chose not to fight. That there might be some truth in the idea was entirely beside the point.

As he left his room, he could hear Señorita Rusty greeting his father with a good cheer that was eluding him at the moment. It was unfair and probably a bit childish, but he'd spent much of the last day avoiding both of them, not really wanting to discuss the results of apprehending the Whistling Bandit and not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because he had known the outcome before it had happened, and that was something that shouldn't be. He didn't believe in that sort of thing; it went against every scientific principle he knew. And yet, there it was. He couldn't deny it. Rusty MacDonald had told him nothing less than the truth and his world was now both more and less than he could have ever imagined.

He shook his head, knowing he needed to get ahold of himself. So the world was stranger than he thought. Did it really matter? Would it change his life in any substantial way? 

"Ah, Diego, there you are!" And there was his father, walking towards him with that glint in the eye that meant a lecture. "I know you've been avoiding us, and I know why. We'll talk about that later, after we've seen off Señor Aragon. You've been hiding your light under a bushel, haven't you?"

"...Maybe a little. It didn't seem very important."

"Not important, he says!" Don Alejandro threw his hands up in disgust. "You've been letting people think the worst of you because it wasn't important?"

A true argument might have ensued, but the sound of a cleared throat distracted them; they turned to see Rusty standing with arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

" _Breakfast first. Arguments later._ " Rusty may not have learned much Spanish, but she clearly knew what was about to happen. " _You never want to argue on an empty stomach anyway; hunger makes you cranky and you say things you don't mean and it rarely ends well._ "

His father looked as though he was about to remind Rusty that she was a guest in his home, but then blushed.

"You're right, señorita. I said this could wait until later, and I should stick to my word. But don't think I haven't noticed you only turn brazen when you want to, and each time it's been to help somebody."  
"I can neither confirm nor deny such an allegation. Especially on an empty stomach."

Don Alejandro laughed and led the way into the dining room, where the talk turned to lighter matters while they ate and prepared to go to the Pueblo. The light chatter continued through the journey there and through saying there farewells to Señor Aragon, although it did falter slightly when Rusty called the man "Señor Arrogant" quite as innocently as if she'd genuinely mixed up the name. Since nobody else seemed to suspect anything, no fuss was raised, much to Diego's relief. Once the stage containing all the more recent visitors had departed, it was time to arrange for the piano to be returned to the hacienda... and time to face an entirely different kind of music. As soon as he'd had a word with their other visitor.

"Señorita," he started, but Rusty shook her head.

" _I know, I know; I never meant to say that out loud, but once I did, it was best to play it off as nothing. And really, am I wrong?_ "

Diego tried to give her a reproving look, but he suspected the grin that was trying to break out rather spoiled the effect. The young lady was irrepressible, and, as she'd said, not really wrong. Don Alejandro's stifled chuckle didn't help.

"You are quite incorrigible."

" _Well, people keep incorriging me._ "

Diego pretended not to notice that, studiously ignoring both his father's groan and the blossoming smirk on Rusty's face. Really, it was the only sensible thing to do. Instead, he headed inside the tavern.  
"Don Diego! You missed the excitement the other night." Victoria smiled as she walked by with a pitcher, stopping to refill Mendoza's glass. Diego was a bit surprised that Mendoza had drained one so quickly, but then again, after Hermelinda, he may well have needed it. But Victoria wasn't that focussed on serving at the moment; once she had done that, she set the pitcher down on an empty table and turned to face him. "You know, you really should have been there, Don Diego. There were some questions raised, and I for one would like some answers. To start with, why have you never told anyone you were good enough to write music that would fool an expert like Señor Aragon? And what happened to you in Madrid that has left you so different from the boy I grew up with?"

There it was. Diego sighed, accepting a glass of chilled juice from Victoria and sitting at the empty table. His father and Rusty sat by him, and he made a mental note to repeat what he was about to say to Rusty later, as he would stay in his own tongue for this.

"Well, the first is simple. It simply never happened to come up in conversation, and it honestly never occurred to me that I was doing anything unusual." Not entirely true, but it didn't matter. "As to the second... something did happen. My first year there. I was walking alone when a man accosted me, drawing a knife and demanding whatever money or valuables I might be carrying. I was furious and refused, easily ducking his swing. I warned him off, but he continued to attack. Finally, I... I hit him. A solid blow, square in the face. He fell and did not move."

There was silence in the tavern. Don Alejandro looked concerned, Victoria sympathetic, Mendoza confused, and the few others inside ranged between the three emotions.

"Was he dead, Diego," his father asked more gently than usual. Diego nodded.

"I hit him so hard that I snapped his neck. I've always known that my size meant I had to be careful, but I never imagined I was capable of that. Thankfully, there were a lot of witnesses who were willing to tell the guard what had happened, because I'm not sure they'd have believed me otherwise. I doubt I was making much sense. The next several hours are a bit of a blur, but I do remember Tio Javier showing up and assuring me that I had done nothing wrong."

"Because you did nothing wrong," Don Alejandro said, meeting Diego's eyes with an expression that hovered between stern and sympathetic. "I understand you not wanting to kill a man, even if he would have killed you, especially since it was an accident, but there is nothing wrong with defending yourself. As for how he died... well, I'm afraid that will continue to be a problem for you; you take after your mother's side of the family, and none of them came over with us. There's really not many men of your size in the Pueblo. I honestly can't blame you for wanting to avoid fighting until you can be sure that doesn't happen again, and I supose that's why you didn't study under Sir Edmund."

Diego didn't let the wince show; even now, his mentor's death still hurt. Sgt. Mendoza looked like he was about to say something, as he would remember the events of that day, but for whatever reason, the man stayed silent on that topic, visibly changing his mind before speaking.

"Well, there are a few, Don Alejandro. Let's see, there's Pedro Martinez... oh, he's not a very good fighter, though. Don Esteban... no, he has a limp. Don Hilario... well, he's as tall as you, but too skinny. Jorge...no, that would be a terrible idea. Oh, and Senor Zorro, but how could we ask him?"

"Well, next time he has to put a stop to one of the Alcalde's schemes, we could just ask him," Don Alejandro said with a smile. He was joking, of course, but Victoria got a gleam in her eye that Diego didn't trust. Sgt. Menodoza, not seeing it, laughed and shook his head.

"It's the best idea we've had so far, but we better not let the Alcalde hear about it."

Diego couldn't hold back a grin at that mental image; Ramon would be positively apoplectic at the mere suggestion. He sat back and listened as people made suggestions as to how Diego might learn to control his strength, and a few of the more perceptive individuals pointed out that his constant attempts to hold back probably accounted for his occasional fits of clumsiness as well. He hadn't thought of that as an explanation, but he nodded when it was proposed. It was a great relief to hear them supporting him for a change; perhaps he should have done this from the start. Or if not then, at least before now. He'd considered similar plans before, and even come close to going through with them, but every other time, something had prevented him from carrying them out. This time, fortune had smiled on him.

As conversations tended to, the topic gradually drifted away from Diego and his problems, much to his relief. Rusty raised an eyebrow at him as he relaxed a little.

" _Everything all right?_ "

"Yes; I'll tell you the whole story later, at home. But it seems unfair that I should be the only one subjected to public scrutiny today." Diego shot her a wicked grin that only deepened as a look of horror dawned on her face. He'd only just thought of putting her on the spot as well, but as he'd said, it was unfair that he should be the only one there. He aimed that grin at Victoria, whose expression mingled amusement and suspicion. "You know, Victoria, Señorita Rusty will be glad to see the piano return. I believe she has greatly missed it while it was here."

"Oh, does she play?" Victoria sounded just innocent enough, but her own smile was turning impish.

"Quite well, as it happens; even Señor Aragon spoke highly of her. Well, highly for him, at least."

"Then perhaps she could favor us with a small concert before the piano is packed up?"

"What a splendid idea!" Diego noticed his father trying to hide his own grin. He wasn't worried about embarrassing Rusty; not much, anyway. She'd mentioned having played for a band of some sort and at something called an open mike night, so she clearly had little fear of performing, and it would be good for people to see her as something other than the poor shipwreck victim living on de la Vega charity. Admittedly, that wasn't his primary reason for suggesting it, but it was still a good idea. She might even agree once she finished trying to kill him.

"Señorita _MacDonald_ ," Victoria said, turning to Rusty, " _Don Diego tells me that you play the piano with some skill. Would you mind playing a few songs for us? We so rarely get to hear new music, and you must know some songs that we wouldn't have heard._ "

Well, that was hard to argue, for more reasons than Victoria could ever know. Rusty stopped glaring at Diego, blinked, then chuckled.

" _I think I might know a few. Sure, why not? Give me a few seconds to warm up and I'll see what I can dredge up from my memory._ " She stood a little too carefully, but her tread was steady as she walked over to the piano and stopped at the stool. " _I can trust this not to collapse, I hope._ "

Victoria laughed, as did the others who knew English; even Mendoza, who understood more of it than he could speak, snickered at the memory of Aragon crashing to the floor in a flurry of sheet music.

" _It is safe, I promise._ "

Rusty grinned and sat down, running her fingers up and down the keys a few times before nodding her satisfaction. Not surprisingly, Diego didn't know the first tune she played, a lovely, flowing piece like a gentle river. Nor did he recognize the next, which was also quite fluid, but this one more like a rippling stream. The third was Mozart's Rondo alla Turca, and she had just moved into a piece that might have been Bach when the door slammed open.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?!"

The Alcalde. Of course. Diego wondered if he should intervene, but at the look on Rusty's face, decided to sit back and watch the fireworks. The others in the room seemed to share his opinion, sitting back after the intial alarm.

" _It's called a concert, you bumptious yogurt._ "

What on earth was a yogurt? Ramon didn't seem to know either, but he was already steaming and seemed ready to unleash it on Rusty.

" _A concert? Why?_ " He held up a hand as Rusty seemed ready with another caustic retort. " _We've just had a concert, and besides, you haven't paid the entertainment tax._ "

" _Enter- you just invented that, didn't you? And you know perfectly well I haven't got any money, since everything I had with me is now on the bottom of the Pacific!_ "

Diego did not like where this was heading; Ramon wouldn't hesitate to throw her in prison, and while she had regained quite a bit of her strength, that would set her back. He stood a split second before his father, who stepped back to let Diego take the lead.

" _Well, you know that taxes don't have to be paid in cash. They can also be paid in goods and services._ " Several minds went to places he hadn't intended them to go, from the numerous outraged expressions he got. Diego didn't say a word, instead crossing his arms and shooting an exasperated glance at the piano. Rusty had the good grace to blush as her lips formed a silent "oh". The Alcalde cleared his throat, looking relieved, and many in the crowd looked away, shamefaced. As they should. " _I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you could think of a good song for the Alcalde, couldn't you, señorita?_ "

Rusty just stared at him for a moment or two, but then her glance slowly slid towards an increasingly unnerved Luis Ramon, who gulped visibly as Rusty's smile turned unholy.

" _Now that you mention it, I do believe I know just the song for him, and it should pay him in full._ "

Oh, dear. He may have created a monster. But he needed to see this through, and he had to admit that it might be worth it to see the Alcalde squirm. He moved to block the man's escape, politely escorting him to a chair next to Don Alejandro, who had clapped a hand over his eyes but was struggling to keep a straight face. Rusty reseated herself, cracked her knuckles in a most unladylike manner, which he knew was deliberate, and began to play.

The opening chords were a bit jangly, although not truly discordant, and almost but not quite disjointed; despite this, it wasn't unpleasant. And then she began to sing in a warm, summery soprano. The first few lines didn't seem to fit as well as he'd have expected, but they led into something that described Ramon pefectly.

" _You've got opinions, man_  
 _We're all entitled to 'em, but I never asked_  
 _So let me thank you for your time,_  
 _And try not to waste anymore of mine_  
 _And get out of here fast._ "  
A bridge assured him that she wasn't drowning and there was no one for him to save, then a blistering chorus demanded to know who cared if he disagreed, and who died and made him King of Anything. It wasn't like any music Diego had heard before, but he had to admit he liked it. The Alcalde, to nobody's surprise, began to glower even before the bridge; said glower only grew deeper as the song progressed. When it ended, He stood slowly, ignoring Diego's rise to shadow him as he approached Rusty, who was not the least bit intimidated. The two stared each other down for a few seconds before Ramon stormed out; a few seconds later, the expected bellow for Mendoza erupted. The good sergeant jumped to his feet, doffed his hat to Rusty with a grin, and ran to join his commander. Rusty didn't move, but glared after Ramon, color high, eyes glittering.

" _I do not like that man,_ " she said, enunciating each syllable. Diego half-expected her to sit and play out her fury on the piano, but instead she chose a gentle tune that allowed the tension in the room to dissipate. Diego sat back down, thinking. Those two were striking sparks off each other, which was worrisome, but possibly useful; Rusty had admitted that she found Ramon physically attractive but "emininently punchable", so he needn't worry that she would lose her head over the man, but she might not object to helping keep him off-balance by allowing those sparks on occasion. Not by encouraging Ramon, but by simply being Rusty: forthright, sometimes brazen, but always willing to fight for a cause she found to be just. He hadn't known her long, but that much was obvious. Her knowledge of future events would also come in handy; he might even be able to prevent some of them before they started. He had no doubt that would lead to other complications, but some of those avoided events might be worth it. And while he hardly dared think it, it was even possible that her future knowledge might allow him to finally settle the matter of the Alcalde and maybe, just possibly hang up his mask forever.

Rusty's music: The barcarolle from Les Contes des Hoffman  
Paul Sullivan, Headed Home  
Mozart, Rondo All Turca  
JS Bach, Prelude 1 in C Major  
Sara Bareilles, King of Anything  
Turlough O'Carolan, Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór (William Coulter arrangement)


	6. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rusty begins to tell Diego of his future while beginning to figure out her own.

I was a lot calmer when Diego, Felipe, and I gathered in the cave that evening, which was just as well for Diego. I can understand why he put me on the spot like that, since it got the attention off him for the rest of the morning, but it was still annoying. I'd let him think I was plotting revenge for a while, just to mess with him; it wasn't a big enough deal for putting any effort into it. In the meantime, I wanted to know what had been said that I hadn't been able to understand. That part went fairly quickly, and we turned to what I knew would be coming. I wasn't worrying about messing up timelines, because I have a hard time believing the universe it so fragile that changing the future will inherently lead to DOOOOOOM, so I was happy to tell them everything I could remember about the show. Which, unfortunately, wasn't as much as I would like, but if we just changed the rest of the season I'd arrived in, who knew if any of the deSoto episodes would even happen?

"I remember an episode with a family that was probably meant to be Amish-- that's a religious group back home, they tend to keep to the old ways and I do mean _old_. They tend to avoid anything invented after the Industrial Revolution really got going. Your father had a recurrence of malaria, the wife of that family treated him with herbal medicines, and some hysterical idiots in the Pueblo went on a witch hunt and nearly killed them. That one'll be one of the easier ones to defang."

"Oh, yes," Diego nodded. "I can ask Doctor Hernandez about an herbal medicine I read about and ask him how it compares to modern medicines; he hasn't much sympathy for superstition, and he can be quite caustic when anyone brings up the subject of witchcraft. And if I'm in the Pueblo when the family arrives, I can strike up a conversation with them that should also allay some fears. Are any others this easy to fix?"

"Before that, the Alcalde will be going out of town just before some Lieutenant Governor or something is due for a visit, but the guy shows up early, gets huffy, appoints Don Alejandro acting Alcalde, then tells him he has until Saturday to catch Zorro or he'll be hauled off in chains and the family taxed into oblivion. And at the same time, the brother of some poor schmuck who was shot as a cattle thief come to get revenge on the Alcalde but nobody bothers to tell him your father only just got saddled with the job. I don't remember how you got out of that one, sorry." If I'd known I was going to end up here, I'd have binge-watched the whole series; instead I had to rely on the bits an pieces that came to mind. I knew I wouldn't get all of it today, and writing it down was just asking for trouble because the wrong person was bound to find it. I'd have to make a point of telling Diego when I remembered anything new; who knows how many lives could be saved? "Maybe we can make sure the Alcalde doesn't shoot any cattle thieves?"

"Easier said than done, but not impossible. As for this government official, well, I don't generally approve of abusing family connections, but in this case I think I could make an exception. He might be less inclined to threaten someone with connections to the King... but... then he will probably go on to do something similar in another pueblo to someone who isn't as fortunate. There must be some way to stop him that doesn't put my father at risk; I'll give that some thought. But I can tell that something is bothering you, _Se_ _ñ_ _orita_. Is there worse to come?"

I hesitated. Much as I disliked Luis Ramon, I didn't want him dead, but despite what I said about not worrying about the timeline, this was a major change. On the other hand, keeping Ramon alive meant de Soto would never come here, which could only be good for him. After all, the final episode had him on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and it had not been played for laughs. I'd have to tell Diego about his long-lost brother whose death had been the cause of that (among other major problems) anyway; maybe between the two of us we could find a way of defusing both those situations.

"All right. There are two major events that I suspect can't be avoided, and it may be for the best, but certain parts of them have to be fixed. First, Victoria's father is alive, but is in a place known as The Devil's Fortress. Her brother shows up to tell her this, and the two of them, along with the Alcalde and possibly Mendoza go to try to arrange for his release. You make your own way there, because Zorro. Everything goes pear-shaped, a riot starts, prisoners escape, and the Alcalde decides that this is the perfect time to steal the physical copy of your family's land grant. You catch him in the act, there's a chase, and he tries to climb around the outside of one of the towers. When he slips, you reach to help him, but like an idiot he grabs your mask instead and falls to his death screaming that he should have known." I finished up by taking a swig of my fruit juice, surprised at how shaken I was. It was easy to describe an episode killing off a main character when it was just fiction; it's a lot harder when you've met them and you know that you're talking about the death of a real person. Diego and Felipe looked as shaken as I felt, but Diego pulled himself together quickly.

"This can't be allowed to happen. I think we must leave Zorro out of that adventure, and I must travel as myself. The Alcalde would be less inclined to try such a foolhardy stunt if he knew I was right there, and I might be able to keep him from slipping away if he does make the wrong choice. And we have to get Victoria's father out of there-- you just remembered something else, didn't you?"

"Yes. Her father was pretty sick when they got there; he... well, he died after they 'liberated' him. He and a lot of others are there on garbage charges, the conditions are disgusting even by Nineteenth Century standards, sorry, but cleanliness is not next to godliness in most of the world right now and you know it, and both the Commandant of the prison and his daughter are evil vicious, corrupt, and generally horrible people. And now it's your turn to realize something," I said as I saw a light go on over Diego's head.

"Perhaps that over-zealous official could be pointed in that direction," Diego mused. "It's hardly a fool-proof plan, but it couldn't hurt. Something must be done, and done quickly; it would be terrible for Victoria to find her father only to lose him again so soon. Do you know when these events are likely to occur?"

"The official should show up before much longer, then the Amish family, and right now I honestly don't remember if there's anything between them and the Devil's Fortress, but if I think of anything, I'll let you know." We had the beginnings of plans in place for the immediate future; that was good. I wasn't sure I should bring up the whole Risendo mess until after we'd dealt with that, but Diego hadn't forgotten anything.

"Thank you. Now, what was the second event?"

"Sit down; this is going to take some telling. Oh, and you might want a drink ready, because it gets ugly." So I told him. I told him about Inez Risendo. I told him about his brother being stolen while his mother was left to give birth to Diego alone. I told him about Gilberto arriving in the Pueblo and immediately displaying a cruel streak he'd definitely learned from Inez. I told him everything I remembered about the episodes, including how Ignacio de Soto shot Gilberto in the back to keep him from murdering Diego. Diego and Felipe both sat and listened, growing increasingly pale at every word; when I described Gilberto's death, Diego closed his eyes and sagged, looking defeated. Once I finished, he drained his glass of wine in one swig, placing it back on the table with the kind of care used by people who are just this side of snapping. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, letting Diego process the news. I couldn't begin to imagine how hard this was for him, hearing that a brother he'd never known about was already lost to him; it was possible that Gilberto could be redeemed, but what I'd seen in those episodes made me doubt it.

"Thank you, Rusty," Diego said quietly, well after the silence had become uncomfortable. "I can't say this is a story I enjoyed hearing, but now that I know, perhaps we can mitigate that as well. Perhaps we can save him from not just that woman, but himself. From what you described, it doesn't sound likely, but I have to try. No matter how twisted he has become, he is my brother, and as the older, he is my father's true heir. He must be restored to his rightful position if it is at all possible."

"Ever think sometimes you're a little _too_ honorable," I sighed, but I couldn't really argue with him. Gilberto was an evil shit, but he'd also been screwed pretty badly. He'd never been given a chance to be anything else. Maybe... Yeah, right. A small part of me hoped Gilberto would end up dead anyway, but I squashed it and tried to think of a way to lighten the mood. "Uh, soooo.... Apropos of absolutely nothing, do you have any bright ideas for my future? Seems only fair you should get a say in it, since I have plenty to say about yours."

Diego chuckled softly, shaking his head and giving me a grateful look.

"You know you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish. I probably should have told you this earlier, but my father's widowed cousin is coming from Monterrey to be a chaperone. _Tia_ Silvia should be arriving in a week or two. You'll like her; she's quiet and soft-spoken until she decides she needs to be otherwise, and then she is a force of nature. She also knows when to turn a blind eye, which is an excellent thing in any chaperone and in this case, essential."

"I hope it's not too much trouble for her." I knew I didn't have much choice but to stay here or become homeless, but that didn't mean I liked inconveniencing everybody. But Diego was shaking his head.

"Not in the least; her son has only recently married and she wishes to let her daughter-in-law take the reins of the household without feeling as though her every move is being watched. Father also wrote to your family, once we knew who you were; had I known the truth at the time, I would have seen to it that the letter was lost. Unless you wish to return to them?"

"Dear fuzzy gods, _no_." I shook my head a lot harder than Diego had; my memories of this life showed even less reason to give a damn about them than my original life. At Diego's raised eyebrow, I explained. "My older sister got a beautiful ball for her debut into Polite Society. My brother has never been refused anything he wanted. Me? My eighteenth birthday was marked by my father working late and my mother fussing because the cook arranged for dinner to be food that I particularly liked instead of something more elegant. No ball, no debut, nothing. Not until I turned twenty-one, at which point I was summoned to my father's study and told I was going to marry some idiot I'd never even heard of who was posted to somewhere around the Canadian border and that my ship would be sailing in a month's time. I suppose I should be grateful that he at least opened up the purse strings to allow my mother to buy me a semi-decent gown for the wedding I didn't want. Oh, to be fair, Mother Dearest did drag me to the most expensive dressmaker in Portland, but she chose every last detail about the dress. It was _pink_. Lace, frills, flounces, and basically the most ridiculous piece of sugary fluff even this world's version of me had ever seen. I'm surprised the Pacific didn't get less salty when that thing sunk with the ship. So here's hoping that letter never reaches them, or if it does, they decide that me being out of their lives is good enough, even if it isn't what they had in mind. I don't know what I can do in this world, but almost anything would be better than _that_."

"...Forgive me, _se_ _ñ_ _orita_. I didn't know. And now that I do, I'll watch for a return letter and try to keep it from my father if it comes. But I repeat my invitation: you may stay here as long as you like." Diego was serious again, and his expression was sympathetic rather than pitying. I smiled, my temper fading again.

"Thanks, but at some point I need to make a living for myself; I can't rely on your charity forever. Problem is, this era isn't really friendly to single women, especially ones who effectively have no family. I don't have much in the way of marketable skills for this era: I play piano, but how many of those are there here? I doubt I can support myself by giving lessons. I can sew, and I'm not half-bad, but not good enough to do it as a job. I'm a better knitter, but there isn't much market for mittens and sweaters here, and knitting lace takes forever and is annoying as... a really annoying thing. Watercolors... a world of no, along with embroidery and needlepoint. Dance training... for dances that mostly don't exist yet and would scandalize everybody if I tried to teach them. I highly doubt anyone would want me to teach them French, all things considered. My wilderness knowledge is for an entirely different climate, and nobody around here goes whitewater rafting or kayaking for fun. There has to be something I can do; I have to contribute somehow."

“I think I may have an idea,” Diego said after a few minutes. “We haven’t said much about you, although that hasn’t stopped the gossip.”

“What does?”

“True. I think our story should stay close to the truth: you are an American gentlewoman fallen on hard times, and you were on that ship because you were taking a post as a governess.”

“Arranged marriage.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think they need to know that, or people will insist on trying to reunite you with your husband,” Diego grimaced. “You’ll be expected to stay here for at least another month while you recover, and that will give us some time. But you said you were a writer, among other things. I run a newspaper. Perhaps you could contribute? It wouldn’t pay much, but while you stay here you’ll be able to save a bit. If you wrote academic papers, that is always a plus for a journalist.”

“Oh, I can write,” I agreed. “I’m not so good with interviews, though. On either side. My mind always goes blank.”

“Then you can write essays, or short stories. Or even a serial; those are always popular. And I can translate them into Spanish for you until you learn the language.” He broke off as the elephant in the room finally sat on him. “Wait. You know about Zorro. That could be dangerous.”

“Why? That whole thing has never made sense to me. Why does just knowing something put me in any more danger than not knowing it, if nobody knows whether or not I know? ...Okay, I said that and confused myself.”

“I understood you, and that worries me. What you are saying is that, if nobody realizes you know any more about Zorro than anyone else, then they have no reason to bother you. Can you convince people of that?”

I gave him a look similar to the one I gave the Alcalde.

“…I retract my question.”

“Thought you might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: Despite what was shown in a few episodes, white wedding gowns were not the norm yet. I may come up with an in-universe explanation later, if it becomes relevant again.


End file.
